


love in idleness

by solesism



Category: A Midsummer Night's Dream - All Media Types
Genre: blood warning, oberon's a big shit, puck's a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:58:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solesism/pseuds/solesism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The promontory scene mentioned in 2.1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love in idleness

They sat on the end of a rough finger of dark rock that jutted out into the sea. Clouds pulsed overhead and waves rammed into the rocks, though no drops of water dared land on the fairy king.

Puck’s hair stood on end with electricity and he could taste it on the back of his tongue. He danced around the king and on the edge of the promontory, always almost-but-not-quite falling into the roaring water. His skin soon grew slick and cold and he threw his head back and laughed, drawing Oberon’s attention away from the sky for a moment.

“Have you a death wish?” He called.

Puck faced him, then, nearly silhouetted against the bruised clouds and inky water. “Aye, so what if I do?” He yelled back, fighting to be heard above the wind.

Oberon held out his hands and Puck bounded to him, standing too far away. “Lord?”

“Then you would be without a king and I would be without a servant.” He looked into Puck’s dark eyes and saw only the storm reflected in them.

He rolled his eyes, shattering the image, and broke away. “I said only that I might have a death wish, not that I have any intentions of granting it.” He cut the bottom of his foot on a sharp ridge in the rock then, and blood- black or gold or silver or red, it was never able to decide what it wanted to be- flowed between his toes and dripped over the stone, mixing with seawater. “Now.”

Oberon sighed and picked him up from where he was standing frozen, transfixed by the blood. He sat on the wet ground, Puck limp in his arms, and adjusted them so that he was by Puck’s feet.

He looked up just in time to see Puck, hair plastered down with water, stick dark, syrupy fingers into his mouth.

Oberon let Puck’s blood stain his clothes as he wrapped his fingers around his slender ankle and wiped away the blood, still flowing freely. He hissed and drew his knee halfway to his chest as Oberon probed the wound, but slowly extended his leg again at the reproachful look he got.

The cut was long and deep and surprisingly gory, flesh visible through the skin. It was a surprise that Puck had been injured at all, and through his feet- his marvelous, always flickering feet.

Oberon concentrated and the wound slowly closed up, muscle and skin and calluses and blood grinding together. Puck, though Oberon knew the healing process hurt, didn’t cry out, and stared at his bloody foot like he could see through it to another world. Oberon’s eyes dropped back to the blood and his sleeve, already wet and heavy, was used again.

When the job was done to his satisfaction, Oberon sat back on his haunches and sighed. He looked up and just caught Puck leaning over, pressing his hand onto the same silver-red ridge of stone that had cut his foot and pounding his weight into it, just once- blood gushed again.

He looked at his hand like it was something beautiful, transfixed by the mossy smell of fairy blood and salt-sea and roiling thunder. His eyes closed as he brought his hand close to his face and inhaled; his shoulders slumped as his tongue flicked out and over the heel of his palm.

He glanced toward Oberon and flushed, but tasted his own blood twice more before stretching his arm out toward the king’s glare. 

Oberon took this as a challenge and slid his fingers up the rough underside of Puck’s arm to his wrist. Eyes locked with Puck’s, he pressed his mouth to the new wound.

Puck laughed a bit and stayed frozen to his spot until Oberon pulled away and stood up. He leaned back against Oberon’s legs, the only point of warmth around him. He reached up, fast as a snake-strike, and pulled down Oberon’s arm. He pressed the back of his hand to his cheek, traced his nose along his knuckles, and pressed a kiss to the side of his wrist before releasing him.

They stayed like that, watching the water and the sky fight until they became one. The tension built and clawed and rose until-

Puck leapt to his feet right as the storm broke, rain suddenly falling in a torrent that soaked them both to the bone instantly. He crowed, joyful and loud, and then he danced, a fairy reel that made the raindrops slow so they could watch. He drew even Oberon’s gaze, eyes appreciative of the way he threw his head back, lost in music only he could hear, tracing over the slight curves where his wet clothes clung.

He danced, occasionally opening his eyes for a lusty look at Oberon or a wink and a sharp grin. He was just about to attempt to pull Oberon in with him when something tugged on their ears.

Puck scrambled onto the fairy king’s back and looked over his head. “A siren, m’lord.” It was another few moments before the rain got bored with Puck’s abandoned revels and turned to the siren for entertainment, and she sang so beautifully that the rain completely stopped. The waves relaxed into a steady rhythm, lapping at the rock and underscoring the siren’s song.

Puck sighed into his ear softer than the vowels of the maiden, now visible, skimming along the surface on a dolphin’s back. Her job done to her satisfaction, she disappeared under the calm waves.

Puck disentangled himself from his king and half-heartedly did a few more steps of the reel, trying to get Oberon’s attention again. 

But Oberon’s dark eyes were tracing a line across the gray sky, down across the horizon to a field of wildflowers nearer to the mainland. He smiled and huffed out a single laugh.

Puck looked at the sky, but all he could see was a blanket of clouds.

“Lord?” He shouldered the king. “Oberon!”

“Hm?” The fairy king blinked and looked down at him. “Yes, Puck?”

“I-“

He suddenly turned affectionate, cupping Puck’s cheek. “My Puck.” He murmured. “Gentle, sweet- shall we to home? It is almost suppertime.”

“What’s for supper, my lord?’

“I’m in the mood for fish, aren’t you?”

Puck threw his head back and laughed, and danced, and pulled his king into the dance with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for reading the roles of servant and lord! Here's another. Please leave kudos, a comment, and feel free to hop over to the rest of my works! love ya!


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